


Lust and the Old Witch

by SecretSpyder



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Kink Meme, Multiple Penises, Old Age, Prostitution, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretSpyder/pseuds/SecretSpyder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I need someone with discretion," he said, expressing perhaps as much interest as if he were selecting a new hat. "Someone difficult to phase. Things for me have changed since I gained my power--yet the desires of a man remain.</p><p>"I hear you are familiar with all things of this earth, and I hear you share it with no one. Is this true?"</p><p>"It is," said Madge gravely, and from then on none of it was discussed again--merely the basics of the financial transaction. As far as either of them was concerned, the matter was very cut and dry.</p><p>First published on ouatkinkmeme in April of 2012. There's actually remarkably little porn in it, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lust and the Old Witch

The rumors flew, as rumors always would; the demon that would do anything for a price, well... surely he would need companionship as well. His taking that princess as a maidservant had done absolutely nothing to stem the tide, though she (to her credit) remained absolutely tight-lipped as to what had happened within his walls.

This didn't stop ladies from all over the land from claiming that Rumpelstiltskin had enacted a carnal price from them, and the stories from this type of source were as wild as they were inconsistent. Rumpelstiltskin had an organ fit to mast a ship; he had none at all, but made love by sticking his serpent's tongue in the most sensitive of places. He asked the most vile, loathsome favors to gratify himself sexually; he was the best lover one had ever had.

All of them were liars, of course. In all the realm, there was only one woman who had ever seen Rumpelstiltskin in the full flesh--and she wasn't talking.

 

Old Madge was not the person one would suspect to know so specifically the imp at the edge of everyone's nightmares. She was old, egregiously old; no one living remembered still the birth of her grandchildren. She was a witch, though not an incredibly powerful one, and as ugly as the moniker suggested. She lived in an old shack in the middle of a perilous swamp, and only the most desperate of men ever braved her bog to visit. Truthfully, since this upstart had begun his game, she'd been getting less business--but that was fine with her, as she didn't much care for visitors.

Behind the misanthropy, the age, and the ugly facade, however, there were a few components of her character that could not be challenged or denied: The first was that absolutely nothing phased her, and the second is that absolutely nothing of any of those she helped ever passed her lips.

It was for this reason that the young Rumpelstiltskin first passed through her doorway, and the reason he had passed through so many times since.

 

It was not in Rumpelstiltskin's nature to ask for favors; perhaps that is why discussions of magic never reached the space under Madge's thatched roof. Their transactions were the most impersonal, unemotional of any that either of them had commonly engaged in. That was fine. For a few straws of gold, Rumpelstiltskin would have an hour of her time, and afterward it would be days or months until he'd visit again.

"I need someone with discretion," he said, expressing perhaps as much interest as if he were selecting a new hat. "Someone difficult to phase. Things for me have changed since I gained my power--yet the desires of a man remain.

"I hear you are familiar with all things of this earth, and I hear you share it with no one. Is this true?"

"It is," said Madge gravely, and from then on none of it was discussed again--merely the basics of the financial transaction. As far as either of them was concerned, the matter was very cut and dry.

 

And yet, the first time that Rumpelstiltskin disrobed before her, it took all of Madge's decades of experience to keep her face blank and calm, to live up to the only request that her client had made of her. It was the least she could do. But it took every fiber of herself to stick to it.

For it seemed that he was right when he said he was no longer fully human. It was not merely a question of strange eyes and golden skin. It was scales--running over his entire body in an intricate pattern, in colors that simply did not belong on a person. It was twists of muscle and sinew where they did not belong on any creature who had once called himself a man.

And it was the twin phalli that hung at the joint of his legs, covered (at least the foreskins) in that same scaly pelt. Tension hung in the air, and Rumpelstiltskin stared directly at Madge, as if to dare her to scream, to send him away, to startle.

She did not, though it was a near thing. She looked him up and down, as though she were examining a roast, and said, "I suppose you'll want a crack at both entrances then, yes?"

"It would be nice," he said, and though his own tone changed not at all, the pressure went out of the room all at once.

 _Well,_ she thought. _Looks as though I still have it._

\---

Prostitution was not one of Old Madge's standard performances, even when she had been younger and prettier, although her clients did occasionally call for it for whatever reason. She found that Rumpelstiltskin was not like any of the others in this regard. Whereas others wanted to be assured that they were potent, that nothing they could do could be construed as wrong or unnatural... the hobgoblin didn't require any reassurances of the kind. She learned quickly that he preferred she stay absolutely quiet and still, to serve as mere receptacle while he did what his nature forced him to pursue.

He wouldn't believe it, she supposed, because he doesn't believe that anybody in the world would accept him. She could have disabused him of the notion; she had had many clients seeking things far more exotic than an extra penis and some strange skin texturing. (Even the way his skin held to the ambient temperature was not too strange for many of them.) But he did not ask to hear it, and she never spoke of her clients anyway, so she did merely as he asked, and laid still while he performed his business.

If she were the sort who was still even remotely interested in love and sex, if biology had not robbed of her of the desire to go through the motions of reproduction a century ago, her time with Rumpelstiltskin might well have even provided her with a new fetish. As disinterested as she truly was, to feel him rubbing at her through both sides of her inner wall, to stretch each of her cavities to what surely felt like its limit--it might have been intoxicating. But she was no longer a young woman, and as much as this was a cool and unemotional release for her client, it was a cold and calculated retrieval of a nest-egg for herself.

(Well, perhaps not fully. She wouldn't have gotten into the witch business in the first place if she weren't just a little interested in helping people. To some degree.)

\---

"I hear it's been a rough week for you," said Madge once, one of the few personal bits of conversation she sometimes allowed herself. However disinterested you appear, eventually your repeat clients will make a mark on you, if only because of their continued presence in your life. Since Rumpelstiltskin had more-or-less sewn up the dangerous desires sector of the land, she'd found herself with precious few others. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Usually he didn't bite, but this time, after a startled look that spoke more to his heart than anything in the past several years had, he did. Hard. "Why on earth," he said, "would I want to talk about anything with _you_?"

"I've heard other things, too," she continued, as though she hadn't heard. "You don't need to keep coming to me, Rumpelstiltskin. You've got countless young maidens who would risk their very livelihoods for a chance at you. And another who seems, for whatever damnfool reason, to love you. What on earth keeps you coming back to an old hag?"

He's angry--he's been angry for days, Madge suspects, and is dying for someone to take it out on. She braces herself for a slap, to be shoved against the wall, for anything--sometimes, to do what's best for the situation, you need to blow it up.

But he doesn't do any of that. He simply glowers, under half-lidded eyes, every muscle in his body tensed to the breaking point. For the first time, Madge wonders if she might have underestimated him.

"I come," he says, "because I know what I can expect. Pray you do not break my expectations--I fear you would not like the experience."

She could have released his energy, caught up as tight as a bowstring, she was convinced. It might even be better for all involved. But she threw out her initial offer, and he batted it away, and frankly that was all the limb she intend to go out on for this fellow. If he wanted predictability, so be it; all the easier for her. "All right then," she said, as casually as a request to close the shutters. "What can I do for you today?"

For all that the imp claimed to value predictability, however, this time it was different. He moved up to her slowly, still all energy and tension, and put his hand to the back of her head.

And slowly, but with force so great as to be irresistible, pushed her to her knees.

"In your mouth," he said. "Both of them."

If he had been hoping to startle her, he had another thing coming. Much as this sort of sodomy was taboo among most of the villages these days, well... Old Madge had seen more things with her eyes than most people had imagined. She suckled both of his penises, singly and in concert, until his hand began to spasm in her hair with the effort of keeping himself from going off. With one hand she stroked the space between his anus and his ball sac, and with the other she began lightly to fondle his testicles. And there was no seduction or tease in her; just a single-focused aim and a use of all her knowledge and experience to bring him over as quickly as possible.

It was over before it began. Accepting his seed into her mouth, she swallowed, cleaned the remainder off of his soon-sagging members, and stood to face him dispassionately. It was a small amount of satisfaction to see him uncomposed, though he tried very hard to drag his walls back together as she watched.

"Will that be all?" she said.

It took him a few seconds to respond, while his face spoke a symphony--ran between a hundred emotions, almost none of which she could decipher. This week must really have been hard on him.

"It appears my needs," he finally spoke, only very slightly unsteadily, "have gotten a little bit more complicated over time."

"I am willing to do whatever I can to assist you, Rumpelstiltskin," she spoke, and it was only due to a century and a half of practice that she managed to keep any gloating out of her voice.

"I don't think that will be necessary," he said. "As a matter of fact, I doubt I shall find cause to call on you again."

"Whatever you feel is best."

And he was gone, as quickly as a snake in water, and Old Madge knew it was the last time she would ever see him again. Oh, well. It was obvious that the boy needed far more help than anything she could ever offer.

This was a turning point for most people, she knew; the rumors she had heard, through trusted means, indicated a great deal of strife that this human pretender had no way of answering. It was from these times that great heroes or great villains were born, and not the mere magical enablers of the sort he had so long been playing.

She thought of her own moment, so long ago, the one that sent her into the woods as a hermit. She did not see that end for him. No, someone so young and so new to power... it would be dramatic. An explosion, in one direction or another.

Whatever way, one thing was certain, and this was the first thing to give her a genuine smile in decades--a smile that persisted even as she laid in her bed and prepared to sleep for however long it took for the next client to come.

Whatever happened, it was bound to be interesting.


End file.
